


The Luckier Man

by jenni3penny



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: A sequel to Coolbyrne's 'A is for Artisan', with permission. Because Jack is definitely a Montgomery Clift sorta gal.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	The Luckier Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/gifts).



"Hey, ' _The Misfits_ ' is on TCM," she started in before he could even say 'hello', her voice a calm and intimate hum that made him smirk as he turned the volume on the television back up. He'd already been watching it. "Monty is so dreamy."

Gibbs smiled entirely upon hearing her exaggerated tone, snugging down deeper into the couch cushions as he took a swallow off his beer and blankly watched the television. She wasn't wrong. Monty _was_ pretty dreamy for a guy. He wasn't surprised that she'd go for the darker and gentler male lead, especially when Clark Gable's booming voice rebounded back and forth between their phone lines. Monty was definitely more her type.

_Shannon loved Montgomery Clift, too…_

"Well, she _did_ have excellent taste in men."

He blinked rapidly after she spoke, shoulders suddenly tight as his body jolted in surprise. He'd obviously said it out loud, subconsciously inviting her comparison by offering his own. He swallowed again, breathing in through his nose before he forced himself to acknowledge her compliment. "I'm a luckier man than he was."

Especially considering the revelation he'd dropped on her the night before, no warning given. She'd handled it with aplomb, leaned into it gracefully. Not once throughout the day had he questioned saying it or feeling it, not once had she made him feel self conscious about it. Certainly not after she'd emailed him an unnecessary morning reminder to put out the recyclables. And especially considering she had been texting with Bishop all afternoon and if she'd had enough free time to chat she shoulda just come home to him.

 _Home_. To _him_.

Though, to be fair the first text he had gotten that morning had read ' _How was that shower, Champ? Be safe today. Love you_.'

Sassy little shit.

"I dunno," Jack murmured back, voice muzzy with weariness, "one of his best friends was Elizabeth Taylor."

He shrugged despite the fact no one could see it. "And one of my best friends is you. Theory stands."

" _Hmmm_."

He could mentally see the knowing but appreciative smile that generally matched that particular hum up her throat, charmed but still guarded. He closed his eyes to enjoy the memory of its intimacy, its familiarity. Stretching farther back against the couch, he inhaled slowly and let the quietness settle. She easily matched the sound of him breathing and he felt himself grin, rasping the pad of his thumb back and forth on the edge of the beer bottle’s lifted label.

"You sound tired,” Gibbs assessed, sure to keep his tone even, letting a little concern wend its way over the phone line.

She made another sound of agreement in her throat and his hand flexed in an unintentional response to the sound. His fingers curled into his fist, wanting the heat of her hair. He forced his eyes open as the mental image of a fistful of blonde shot desire straight to his groin. He shifted lower against the cushions and ignored how warm and tight his pants felt. Her teasing the night before had barely been staved off by the cold shower. A second night of it wasn't going to be a battle worth even fighting.

"I'm ready to be home."

“Ready for you to be here,” he acknowledged with longing as he lifted the bottle and took another long drink to try and distract himself. All his focus was forced on the television, eyes following the horse wrangling on the screen even as his brain tried to turn back to the image of her hair in his hand and her head in his lap.

He heard himself groan and bit down against it, knowing damn well that she would hear it regardless. She had impeccable hearing. There was little chance she had missed the sound.

He knew she'd heard it just by the soft and throaty way she matched it, acknowledging it without vocally drawing attention to it. Christ, he loved her. She knew exactly when _not_ to say anything.

"Why don't you put me to bed, Gibbs? I've got an early wake up call."

Then again, she also seemed to have a knack for knowing just what to say and when to say it. Especially, apparently, when it came to unintentionally contemplating phone sex.

"Want me to tuck you in?"

"So to speak," she murmured, her tone far more direct than it had been at the beginning of the call. She'd lost her haziness. Now she was honed in on him and he could hear it in the way her voice tipped flatter. "You could do that thing you do on the couch sometimes."

He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that but all he could think of was "Tell you to close your eyes and put my hand - "

"Yes, _that_."

Well, _hell_ … that was not at all the suggestion he had expected from her. Though, it was a pretty brilliant one.

Gibbs sighed slowly, purposely letting the sound of it crest and fall between them as he grabbed for her blanket. "Not gonna work if you interrupt me."

"Gonna ask me what I'm wearing?"

"I know what you're wearing. Half my clean clothes are missing," he accused.

"Then it's a real shame that I'm not wearing any of them."

"Not, huh?" he asked, switching his phone to his left hand as the right tugged down against denim, trying to make more room between his legs and failing. If he was this hard already then he was doomed. Because she damn sure wasn't gonna let up.

"This hotel has really fluffy robes, Gibbs. The fluffiest."

He chuckled as his eyes went shut again, Marilyn Monroe's voice stretching farther away and quieter as his head went back and his shoulders relaxed. He instantly thought of the blue silken half robe she had hanging on the back of his bedroom door, his whole body tensing in response to the thought, the memory of it falling open under his fingers. Her stomach tight under his touch, her nipples hard under cool silk. "You should leave it open."

"Who said it isn't?"

Her voice had gotten huskier, deep from her throat and familiar. His groan answered her taunting, louder than he had intended as he shoved his head back harder. He considered brushing off her teasing for about a millisecond, missing the scent of her while he could hear the sound of her.

"Hell with it," he grumbled, flicking open the button of his jeans and enjoying the pleased hum she made in response.

***

His voice was the audible equivalent of sex to her most every day, anyhow. She didn't need all that much encouragement to slip open the hotel robe and stretch her hips lower against the generic and thin mattress.

Her back was already protesting being away from his more expensive mattress and full bed frame. Or her thick and cloud cushioned one. Another night wasn't going to do much more damage than had already been done but boy, did she wish she was home.

Home with him anchored behind her, though, the way he usually would be on the couch. He was so broad across that she always felt enclosed by his chest and arms in the most soothingly protective way. And especially when he had a hand between her legs and his mouth in her hair.

She had his voice but she didn't have the rumble of his words in his chest at her back. Or his pant of hot breath just behind her ear, a whisper lost in her hairline. Maybe that was what she missed the most as she traced her own fingertips up and down her right thigh, the parts of his voice that she _felt_ instead of heard.

"You know how I like to touch you."

He was right. She did know. But that didn't make it the same.

"Not the same, Gibbs," she nearly whined, finding wet arousal as she sought out her clit and teased around it. Her already angry back got furious as her thighs stretched further open and she groaned, the sound a little more distorted than usual. "This mattress is murder."

"You're the one killin' me, Sloane."

 _God_ , he had a way with words at the best of times, especially considering he was otherwise purposely mute. He attentively measured everything he said by length and cut, of course. He _was_ a carpenter, after all.

"Yeah?" she asked, two fingers now slowly circling her clit, an ache building up below her gut. "Did you put your beer down yet, Gunny?"

"My hand is otherwise occupied."

She grinned so suddenly that she surprised herself. Getting Leroy Jethro Gibbs to partake in phone sex was likely akin to one of the Labors of Hercules and she felt like a goddamn hero. Not that she could publicly celebrate this particular feat. But it felt like such a boon, something to tug them closer and knit them nearer together, even at a distance.

He was such a good sport for loving her, for playing along with her whims. She wasn't always easy on a man who liked his peace and quiet, his routine stability.

"You know how I like to touch you too," she assured, keeping her voice as warm and loving as possible as he groaned.

She missed his hands and closed her eyes to sink into the memory of long fingers, slow strokes, and the way he bent his wrist at a single certain angle. Her hips went lax, head slanting back as she exhaled and then laughed when he did the same. Mentally reminding herself what it looked like when he put his hand to his cock had her suddenly sweating just along the hairline, a moan prying itself out of her. Her thighs tensed in response to her imagination, inner muscles contracting and making her bite down on a whimper.

"May be best if I just focus on you a minute."

She smiled wider at his commentary, eyes still shut as she continued circling her fingers against her clit, her teeth catching down on her bottom lip. His voice had quieted, taking on a burnt edge, smoldering under a thin layer of self awareness. He wasn't a phone sex sorta guy but God love him for trying. He was exactly the sort of guy who would give her whatever she asked.

"I'm fine with that. I _like_ having your attention, Gibbs."

He grunted an acknowledgment and the sound just barely preceded her own groan. "Sounds like you're about halfway there, huh?"

"Getting closer." Her forehead furrowed a little as she confirmed his suspicion, eyes squeezing tighter shut as she shivered. "I need you to talk, babe. I know that's not - "

"Hate that it's not me," he interrupted glumly, sounding put out about it. She believed him. "Touching you's one of my favorite things to do."

Jack rewarded his honesty with an audibly sighed moan, a soft and warm one that came just as she pressed two fingers inside herself and jammed her thumb on her clit. It wasn't _at all_ the same. She missed his bigger and stronger hands, ached and moaned for them to fill her, tease her.

"You're so much better at it too," she whispered, slicking her fingers back upward so that she could tease her clit again.

She could have sold her soul to get his mouth between her legs at that moment.

"I can hear it, that shiver you get." The endearing heat of his voice drew pressure up from between her thighs, nested it low in her gut and prodded at it, stoking it hotter. "Gettin' stronger, isn't it?"

She whimpered her agreement, nodding just before jamming her head back against the too thin pillows. Frustration jerked her deeper downward, pulling at her hips even as her fingers tried to bring her closer to his voice, his warm and comforting murmur.

That was always how she came, in search of the sound of him.

"Wish I could see you right now," he said, like he knew she needed to hear him. "Love watchin' you come."

She let out an unplanned noise before she could trap it back, a half whimpered yelp of frustration. It echoed into the room to join the sound of the movie they were both now ignoring. He made a reply of pleased agreement over the phone, happy with himself for getting her to lose her cool. Jack felt her lungs shudder as she tried to breathe evenly and failed, even as he shushed encouragement over the line.

"Son of a bitch," she grumbled, dissatisfied.

" _Breathe_ , hon," he laughed through his whisper. "Just let yourself come for me. I wanna hear it. Moan for me."

She gave him just the sound he was looking for as the heat in her flared up, a long and drawn moan from the back of her throat as she started to come. Her back arched into making it louder, thighs clamping shut against her own fingers.

She could see his cocky grin just in the hazy shadow of his voice, distant but close in her ear and taunting, "Just like that."

"You really _are_ a bastard, you know?"

She heard him come a moment or two later.

***

There wasn't another woman left in the world who had so routinely caused him to make a mess of his jeans. Didn't matter if it was her hand doing the teasing and touching or his, he blamed her just the same. He was gonna have to get up and change his clothes but he'd thankfully had the presence of mind to shove her blanket aside for later.

If he had one more night without her he wanted the smell of her close and curled around him.

"Mmmm, that was _fun_."

"Messy," he groused, shifting as his lower back relaxed. His pants were entirely undone, open and hips lax against the cushions. "Your fault."

" _Mine_?!" she feigned innocence, even as she laughed her guilt over the line. "I just called to let you know Monty was on."

"Hmmph."

"Though it looks like we missed the end."

"Was worth it," he concluded, shrugging as he stared down the movie's credits, watching them scroll as she loudly sighed. "I sufficiently tuck you in, Sloane?"

"Oh, yeah," she hummed back. "I'm jelly. I can't even move. Consider me tucked."

He grinned and spoke before he thought. "You're about one letter off on tomorrow's agenda."

"Oooh," she cooed at him before giving a throaty laugh. " _That_ was sassy. I can't wait."

He sighed hard as he smirked, exhaling through his nose while she made a similar sound. "I gotta go clean up. Go to sleep."

"Yessir," she murmured, voice drifting a little as he forced his spine to straighten up, leaning his elbows against his knees and listening to her breathe. "Love you."

He could swear he heard the moment she dipped into sleep and he smiled as he listened to her breathe.

He was a pretty lucky man, after all. And he could listen a little longer…

That was his ' _I love you too_ '.


End file.
